


Blackberry Tea and Broken Latches

by diemarysues



Series: Marriage in the Manner of Dwarves [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's innuendo, cuddles, and schmoop. That's it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackberry Tea and Broken Latches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Heyerette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heyerette/gifts).



Even the sunlight in the Shire was brighter and more lively.

 

It wasn’t something that Thorin would have been concerned with (unless he was stuck outside with no shelter from rain), but currently it was shining through the open window and landed perfectly on his face. He was too comfortable to move, however, and picked up the book lying on his chest to cover his face. The pages were dry and crisp, still smelling faintly of ink, and Thorin sighed a little. He crossed his feet at the ankles and laced his fingers over his belly. He was just sleepy enough for a little more of a nap.

 

Except the book was rudely moved away and the sunlight back on his face.

 

“You are awfully lazy.”

 

Thorin huffed, refusing to open his eyes. “I am entitled. I am on holiday.”

 

“You will get a crick in your neck if you lie there long enough. The bed’s a better option.”

 

“I’ve slept on hard ground for many years, Bilbo. I will survive.”

 

The Hobbit snorted. “That isn’t hard ground, that is my good sofa, and you don’t quite fit on it. I’m telling you –”

 

“May I have my book returned?”

 

It was gently settled back into place. “I ought to smack your overlarge nose with it. Stubborn old Dwarf.”

 

The insult would have carried more weight if Thorin hadn’t felt Bilbo combing through his hair, fingernails scratching lightly against his scalp. It sent sparks dancing lazily down his spine. Soft lips found his forehead just at the hairline, and Thorin sighed when he felt Bilbo pull away.

 

He shuffled a bit on his back so he could shift just a smidge to the left – that was better –, listening to Bilbo pad off into his smial.

 

They’d arrived in Hobbiton only two days prior, and Thorin was most definitely not familiar enough with the layout of Bag End to be able to discern where Bilbo was heading by the echo of his footsteps. Dwarf ears were more suited to caves – if, of course, they were undamaged by long years of smelting in forges and the constantly high risk of explosions.

 

The inside of Bilbo’s home was as bizarre to Thorin’s eyes now as it had been all those years ago when they’d first met; perhaps even more so, because he was now actively interested in its contents beyond the owner and then-unhired burglar. Thorin was also only now exposed to more of it. It had to be admitted, however, that he was more interested in the bedroom than the vegetable garden.

 

At the thought of the bedroom, Thorin shifted again. Now that Bilbo had planted the thought in his head, he felt scrunched up in his chosen seat; the bed was looking like a better idea every passing second.

 

He would have obstinately continued to nap where he was, but for the fact that his conversation with Bilbo had also had the effect of ridding Thorin of his sleepiness. A most unfortunate happenstance.

 

Knowing a losing battle when faced with one, Thorin grumbled under his breath, bracing himself for the bright sunlight when he removed the book again. He waited a beat before uprighting himself and stretching. Something in his back popped and he groaned. Bilbo was right. As comfortable as the sofa had looked, it was still much too Hobbit-sized for a Dwarf as tall as he was.

 

Thorin made a mental note of the page he’d been on before settling the book aside on a pillow. It would serve as after-lunch entertainment – oh, no, Bilbo had wanted him to take a look at the lock on the back door, hadn’t he? He’d best see to that first. A home should always be secure, after all.

 

Not that there was much likelihood of being attacked in the Shire. Old habits.

 

As Thorin walked through Bag End in search of his husband, he took the time to appreciate the oddness of Hobbit holes; something he’d not had the inclination to do when he’d first stepped through the round green door. Hobbits were fond of circular entrances and clean lines – as opposed to Dwarvish architecture. But that was probably the difference between working with wood and working with stone.

 

He ran his hand along the varnished surface of a tabletop. It was hard not to think of Erebor. He’d left his kingdom in Dís’ capable hands, Fíli and Kíli aiding her as necessary. There was absolutely no reason to worry, and still.

 

No. He was in the Shire for a reason. He was meant to put his duties aside for the time that they were here, and he would do his best to comply with Bilbo’s request. And speaking of Bilbo, where exactly was his husband lurking…?

 

The sound of the kettle whistling gave him his answer, and soon Thorin was in the doorway with Bilbo smiling up at him. “Would you like some blackberry tea?”

 

“If I must.”

 

“I wouldn’t want to torture you needlessly,” he remarked, pouring water into a delicate-looking teapot.

 

“I think I can suffer through it. Just this once.” Thorin waited until Bilbo had set the iron kettle aside before slipping one arm around his waist. “But never again.”

 

Bilbo rolled his eyes, straightening the collar of Thorin’s tunic and smoothing out wrinkles. “I thought you were sleeping in the sitting room.”

 

“I was interrupted, rather.” He stroked lightly along the curve of Bilbo’s ear, tugging on the hoop near the point. The facets carved into the slim gold ring caught the sunlight and glinted prettily. “Someone was talking to me, insisting I move.”

 

“You’d have injured yourself, and I’d have to deal with the whining.”

 

Thorin didn’t bother protesting that he didn’t whine – he didn’t. There were better things to talk about. “Have I told you,” he started, letting his fingers glide over Bilbo’s skin like a whisper, “that you have freckles?” They were likely due to their journey to the Shire and Bilbo’s increased time in the sun.

 

Bilbo’s smile was indulgent. “It may have been mentioned, once or twice.”

 

“And have I made it clear that they are quite charming?”

 

“You have.” He nuzzled Thorin’s palm. “Rather more often, I think.”

 

“Good. Because they are.” Thorin connected the freckles with his thumb, tracing nonsense patterns until Bilbo wrinkled his nose and pulled away.

 

“The tea will over brew at this rate.”

 

Thorin sat as was directed of him and added a spoonful of sugar to his already sweet tea despite Bilbo’s disgusted expression. He declined the offer of scones with clotted cream – he was no match for a Hobbit in the appetite department. No, Thorin was content to watch as Bilbo neatly broke his scones in half before slathering cream over them, topping them off with freshly chopped peaches. There was a smear of cream at the corner of Bilbo’s mouth, and Thorin was debating telling his husband or just wiping it away himself.

 

“What is it?”

 

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

 

Bilbo’s eyes narrowed, going crinkly at the corners. Thorin sighed and rested his chin in his hand.

 

“Have you any plans for the day?”

 

“Not beyond preparing lunch and dinner.” He smiled, mirroring Thorin. “I already know your plan was to wile the day away, breaking the spines on my books.”

 

“And you already know you ruined that plan.”

 

“Then you can help me.” Bilbo ignored Thorin’s spluttering protests, standing and gathering the dishes. “No, I won’t hear any excuses. I’m not about to play servant for you while we’re here.”

 

Thorin rose silently, creeping behind Bilbo and sliding his arms around wide hips. He breathed wetly against the back of his ear. “I thought you liked playing servant.”

 

“That’s more your thing.” He could hear Bilbo’s smile. “After so many years of giving orders, it’d be… relaxing for you.”

 

“It is.” Thorin tasted the skin at the back of Bilbo’s neck, grinning into honey-brown curls when his husband tucked his chin into his chest. “Relaxing.” Bilbo’s skin was smooth against his palms (he’d get in trouble for untucking his blouse, but that would come later), and he huffed against Thorin when fingers dipped into and traced around his navel. “Very relaxing.”

 

Bilbo turned, his shirt rucked up over Thorin’s hands. “Do you want to… relax, now?”

 

“Only if that’s what you want.”

 

“What I want,” Bilbo said, smiling wide, “is for you to chop up the vegetables.” He stepped back with a companionable pat to Thorin’s chest, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

 

Thorin watched him mournfully, and watched him straighten his clothes. “If I may remind you, husband, of my forays into cooking.” His gaze moved to Bilbo’s arms as he started folding his sleeves. “My unsuccessful forays.”

 

“You’re only handling the chopping, silly.”

 

Being that Bilbo wasn’t even looking in his direction, it would be a waste to try his piteous expression, so Thorin didn’t bother. He picked up the knife in his right hand and looked doubtfully at the carrot in his left. Bilbo probably had too much faith in him.

 

No, there was no ‘probably’ about it.

 

“This is terrible! Have you forgotten everything I thought you?”

 

Thorin ran his tongue over his teeth. “That was several years ago.”

 

“Yes, but it’s hardly something you could forget so easily.”

 

“I really don’t see what I’m doing wrong.”

 

Rubbing the back of his neck, Bilbo tried to quell his smile. “Clearly.”

 

“Bilbo…”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll help. Before you butcher my vegetables.”

 

He glared at the admittedly unevenly chopped carrots. “You were the one who forced me to do this.”

 

“Complaining doesn’t suit you. Now be still so I can teach you how I want the vegetables cut.” He moved to stand behind Thorin – and Thorin could see that there’d be a problem before Bilbo’s dismayed, “Oh, goodness. This won’t work at all.”

 

 It certainly wouldn’t. Thorin could feel Bilbo’s face pressed against his back, which certainly meant that his husband couldn’t see anything, much less the chopping board. Bilbo quickly let go and ducked under one of Thorin’s arms so he was now standing between the counter and Thorin.

 

This was definitely a better arrangement, Thorin thought as Bilbo grasped his hands again.

 

“Right. You’re not supposed to use the knife like you’re bringing a sword down to crack an Orc’s skull.” Bilbo lifted Thorin’s right hand slightly. “Rest the edge of it against the board, like this. That’s right.” The top of his head tickled Thorin’s chin as they both swayed with the chopping motion. “There. You’ve got it.”

 

“That was… easier than I expected.” Thorin moved closer, his feet on either side of Bilbo’s and his front pressed along Bilbo’s back.

 

“Cooking isn’t hard. Certainly not as hard as smelting iron or fighting Wargs.” They finished with the carrots and moved on to what looked like leek. “And you mastered those with ease.”

 

“Not with ease. With necessity.”

 

Bilbo left Thorin holding the leek to circle his wrist best he could. “This is necessary as well. Unless you want to go hungry.”

 

Thorin chuckled. “I’m sure I can find something else to satisfy.” He made sure the knife was well away before setting his teeth to the back of Bilbo’s neck, quite ignoring the bitten-off squeal (and the sharp elbow to the gut) he got in return.

 

This was… lovely, this relaxed joking and lazy laughter. Now he could appreciate being convinced to accompany Bilbo to the Shire. At the time, being told that he would turn into a ‘bear with nigh on immeasurable grumpiness levels’ without Bilbo around had only made Thorin more and more certain that he’d stay in Erebor out of spite. But now, with Bilbo warm and laughing his arms, Thorin was glad. He didn’t think he’d have done very well without his husband by his side.

 

Luckily for them (and for Bilbo’s stomach in particular), they managed to finish making and eating lunch without any injury or arguments. And it was a very good lunch, even if he did say so himself.

 

“Now will you admit that vegetables aren’t bad?”

 

“That, my Hobbit, is because I prepared them.”

 

Bilbo hid his laughter in Thorin’s broad chest, his toes curling delightfully against Thorin’s shins. They lay together on the four-poster, the coverlet kicked down to the foot of the bed in the warmth of the afternoon. “You are entirely too full of yourself.”

 

Short curls sifted through his fingers easily. “Would you rather I be full of someone else?”

 

Bilbo looked up at him, mouth twitching. “You’re absolutely terrible.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind being full,” Thorin smirked, ignoring Bilbo entirely. He moved fully onto his back and tugged on Bilbo’s upper arms so he could rest comfortably on Thorin. “Don’t you want to… indulge me?”

 

“I don’t think you deserve to be indulged.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“I have my reasons.” Bilbo shifted, straddling Thorin’s middle properly. His hazel eyes were bright with mischief. “You’ll just have to make it up to me, won’t you?”

 

Thorin hummed in agreement. He touched Bilbo’s shoulder, and then the side of his neck. “That’ll be difficult, mmm?” His thumb caught the corner of Bilbo’s mouth. “I have no idea what I could possibly do.”

 

“Oh, _now_ you’re coy.” Bilbo was obviously trying for a serious expression, but the smile broke over his face like a sunrise. He rose onto his knees, resting on his forearms on the pillow on either side of Thorin’s head. He fondly brushed their noses together. “Are you going to kiss me?”

 

Thorin grinned. “Yes.”

 

Even after only two days, Bilbo’s lips were already back to being unbearably soft. Not that Thorin had any problem with them being wind-chapped. He just enjoyed kissing his husband, and happily did so now, pulling Bilbo close so there was hardly any space between them. He could feel Bilbo wind his fingers into his hair, tugging lightly on the braids when he thought Thorin was being too stingy with his affections.

 

“You know,” Thorin said, between kisses, “I was supposed to –”

 

Bilbo sighed through his nose, and reluctantly released Thorin’s lower lip. “Supposed to?”

 

“Your back door.” He coughed a few times, trying to get his voice as steady as it normally was. Bilbo’s fault, obviously. “I have to, have to fix it.”

 

“Not now.” Bilbo stretched luxuriously, his heels knocking against Thorin’s calves.

 

“I really shouldn’t put it off.” Although it was looking more and more attractive by the second. Bilbo was entirely too tempting. From the clasps in his hair to the scandalous cut of his trousers. Thorin had no choice but to steal another kiss.

 

“Despite the fact that you practically dragged me into bed?”

  
“I did no such thing.”

 

Carding his fingers through Thorin’s beard, Bilbo sighed again. “I’ll not argue. But do you really want to be fixing the door, or do you want to be here?” He leaned close, mouth brushing against Thorin’s jaw. “With me?”

 

Thorin fisted his hand in Bilbo’s shirt at the small of his back, ignoring the protest that he was wrinkling it, bringing their bodies close enough that there was barely a breath of air between them. He kissed Bilbo, hard, their teeth smacking together before Bilbo gentled it. Every stroke of Bilbo’s fingers through his hair had Thorin’s back arching little by little, until it was clean off the bed.

 

“Thorin,” Bilbo whimpered. “Thorin, oh.”

 

Kneading the soft flesh of Bilbo’s sides had him curving into Thorin’s own body. Still their lips met idly, between soft breaths and the sound of birds singing outside the open window.

 

Bilbo was the one who nudged Thorin’s chin upwards with his nose, after that dragging his lips along the length of his throat. Now it was Thorin who bit back his gasps, desperately holding on to the green cotton blouse as his husband exploited every weakness to be found.

 

Not that there were weaknesses to be found.

 

When Bilbo pulled blindly at Thorin’s tunic, the King went, rolling them so they were both back on their sides. He slid one thigh snugly between Bilbo’s, arms tight around him.

 

“You’re bewitching,” Thorin whispered.

 

“Only to you.” Bilbo smoothed away a lock of dark hair. “And I’d have it no other way.”

 

His fingers travelled the ridges of Bilbo’s spine like strumming the strings of a harp. “Thank you.” At the quizzical look directed at him, Thorin lowered his gaze to Bilbo’s open collar and explained, quietly, “For letting me be here. With you.”

 

“Thorin, I love you. The only one who needs thanking is you, and that’s for helping me realise that.”

 

He caught Bilbo’s hand as it traced nonsense patterns along his cheek, folding it in his own and holding it to his chest. His heart felt like it was going to burst. “Come here,” Thorin said, and soon enough Bilbo’s head was tucked under his chin, their hands still entwined.

 

“You can work on the door after we wake up.”

 

“When are we going to sleep?”

 

“Right now.” Bilbo wriggled comfortably in Thorin’s grip, presumably with his eyes closed. “I’m not up for anything… indulgent.” His grin was clearly heard in his voice. “That’ll have to wait for after supper.”

 

“Only if you don’t expect help preparing the food.”

 

Bilbo tutted. “Lazy.”

 

“Says the napping Hobbit.”

 

“Says your husband. Who also says: be quiet.”

 

Thorin smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> They're disgustingly in love, aren't they? *tuts*   
> Sort of a self challenge. Hopefully I didn't get too far and stray into smut territory.


End file.
